There's More Behind The Eyes Of A Fallen Angel
by formerlyheavensbitch
Summary: The End was always inevitable. As Lucifer said, all roads lead them to the same point but never had they imagined that such a different road would lead them here again. There's a deal Dean mustn't know about, and a World tending to ruin. What happens when the stability that remains begins to fail? Who shall catch the falling Angel? AU read author's notes for full info
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: None of it is mine.

**A/N**: This is an AU based off of my muse and that of lastofthewinchester's from Tumblr. I told them of this idea I had based around a situation there was around a month or so back and they dared me to fic it. Thus far four chapters have been planned and most of three of them have been written. I've done my best to have it make sense without spelling everything out for you over time but just so you are aware: **Take note. THESE ARE IMPORTANT and if you ask about something I've covered here I will redirect you **- Nothing post season 5 finale happened. - Castiel raised Dean Winchester against orders, two weeks earlier than canon and was punished for his disobedience by being given the ability to hear every prayer, wish, hope and dream called out from the Earth. - Following season 5, Castiel left Heaven no longer able to handle his punishment and the strain of Heaven's duty and traveled with Dean, his Grace diminished as his prayer punishment is tied to it but he is no longer a part of Heaven. Also established Dean/Cas though nothing explicit included. Essentially a alternate version of The End through other circumstances.

Any questions that I haven't covered, just message me.

**There's More Behind The Eyes of a Fallen Angel**

**Chapter One**

The Apocalypse was never stopped, only...put on hold. The delay was longer than anybody might have expected but it wasn't indefinite. Michael saw to that.

Though trapped within the confines of his fallen brother's cage, Michael, the strongest and most absolute of creatures to ever have existed, had the strength to push his Grace through the bars of the cage and find he who is the true vessel. Through whispered words Michael tried to change the Winchester's mind, to change his answer so that he might break free and bring Heaven on Earth.

The answer he sought after an attack reduced him to a child of four years, unburdened by the memories of all he had lost. Remembering naught but the Angel in a long coat that was watching over him, asking after his parents, after his lost brother. With the promise of being a Superhero and saving the world.

Dean Winchester said yes.

* * *

Steven turned, raising his weapon, hands shaking as he heard somebody approaching from the forest. It wasn't supposed to be his day on perimeter but they'd been two short after an incident the previous week where croats had broken through at the Southern border and taken down more than two dozen people. Those who had been witness had either become stalwart hardasses or mewling messes.

Steven had been asleep in a different part of camp, dreaming of his fiancé, Deborah. She'd gone down in the initial battle. Among the seven million killed that week. There couldn't be more than several thousand people left in this state….wherever it was. Turned out maps weren't worth shit when the world went to Hell.

"Halt!" he called, his eyes scanning while he sent a silent prayer skywards which he knew no one would hear. It was one of the first things you learn. "Who's there?"

A man, [height] tall and slightly scruffy hair stepped out of the trees, arms raised. Not a single weapon visible upon his person but his clothes, his jeans, jacket, boots; everything was too clean. Chuck had been working for months on perfecting laundry solutions to try and get things even halfway towards that kind of clean. And this man was just strolling up cleaner than anyone in this forsaken world had a right to be..

"It's alright, man." The stranger was calm as he continued to approach. "My name's Dean. I just got a little los-"

Steven raised his gun a little higher, cocking it, the barrel shaking in his fingers. "Just stay there." Dean froze, arms still raised, head lowered. A sign of deference, surrender. This man meant no harm. But then nobody did when they were first infected. There was no room for sympathies.

"Alright man. Just stay calm."

"Don't move!" He hadn't encountered a survivor before. Protocol said they were to trap them. Get them locked away so any symptoms had the chance to develop in safety. But this guy, though the same height as Steven was much better built. Broader shoulders, better muscle structure. It had been weeks since anyone had really eaten properly in this godforsaken land, but Dean? He looked like he'd never been hungry a day before in his life. Chances were if this man rushed him, Steven could be disarmed and taken down in a less than a minute. Then all it would take would be a quick twist and Steven would be no more.

"I get how this must look. I know but I am _telling_ you-"

Steven was beginning to squeeze the trigger when he heard a familiar voice yell from behind him and Dean's face spread into a small grin as the young man turned to investigate.

A scruffy young man, slight, somewhat grubby but dressed perfectly normally and easily mistaken for any other schmuck hiding out here was approaching from behind. Easily missable except for the dirty beige overcoat that was slung over his shoulders. Only one person wore a coat like that in this post-Apocalyptic shithole. Immediately he lowered his weapon. "Sir?"

The newcomer's fingers clutched a handgun. "I said, Stand down."

"But sir, he-"

"What's your name?"

The young man swallowed. "…Steven."

"I'm guessing this is your first time on Tuesday patrol"

He nodded. "Yes sir. It's usually-"

"-the same people." The man nodded, looking Steven in the eye. "That's because I can only have people I trust. People I know who can accept that some things are above their understanding. This man is one of them, do you understand."

The way the leader stared at him, as though looking directly into his soul trying to find the truth was unnerving and Steven found himself unable to hold the gaze. The poor man stared at the camp leader before glancing to this stranger, this _Dean_.

There had been more camps. Hundreds of small ones, scattered all across the States but incompetence meant they'd fallen, one by one to rogue battles and croat attacks. Bad leadership and those who survived would travel. To date Steven had seen inside five camps, his longest stay was here, at this one under the leadership of this elusive hermit stood before him. Despite being responsible for the safety of hundreds of refugees from elsewhere, he always seemed to succeed, for the most part, because he knew when attacks were coming.

And given how bad things were looking out there last time he'd been between camps, he was willing to go on a little faith.

Still clutching his weapon, finger ready to press the trigger he lowered the muzzle to point at the floor and in the corner of his eye he saw Dean breath a sigh of relief as the tension was released from the poor man's shoulders.

"Good man." The leader was smiling at him, something that was rumoured never to happen yet so few had actually met him it was impossible to know whether the words held any truth or not.

Then the man's eyes turned to their intruder and the small smile grew, lifted imperceptibly, spreading and finally reaching the man's eyes making them sparkle.

"Hello Dean. Did you get lost again?"

Dean grinned back, a similar glint in his eye. "You know me, Cas."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Still nothing to do with me

**A/N:** So following updates will NOT be this quick but hopefully having a bit more story into this might stimulate some more interest and get people reading...hint hint?

Feel free to point out any mistakes or problems because I am currently tired and ill and cannot trust my own judgement when it comes to my writing.

**Chapter Two**

The first few times Dean turned up, the afternoon was spent in what Chuck had dubbed intense Angelic passion; the two of them fucking each other senseless because the half-Angel was desperately trying to regain a small amount of that closeness that he'd not felt in so long. This world, he'd come to realize, was nothing if not filled with death, destruction and lonliness. Nobody realized just how lonely though. Inside Dean or with Dean inside him the rest of the world would melt away, ti would cease to exist and it was just the two of them together as it hadn't been in so long he couldn't even remember what the ground looked like when it wasn't stained with blood.

But that changed one time when he realized that the hunter remembered nothing of his time beyond the confines of the camp. Part of him was intensely grateful that Dean didn't know what had happened to the world, what he was, what….what Cas had done. The other part was filled with regret.

Here they were, the two of them having but one day a month to spend together and all they were doing was going at it like rabbits. It was like he was treating Dean like his personal sex toy. Something to give him release after each and every shitty month as it rolled by. And each month was getting worse and worse. And Dean….Dean deserved far better than that. He'd always deserved _far _better than that.

So the next time when Dean was brought to him, he spent the first ten minutes just staring at him with weary eyes, while the hunter just kept trying to start a conversation between them.

In the end he just took the man's hand, leading him over to the red couch that Cas had managed to help survive all that had happened and just sat down with him. When asked why he simply said that there was more to life than fornication. Which made Dean smile. God he never knew how much he missed Dean's smiles until the man would smile at him like that.

Most of that day was spent with Dean spread out on the couch while Cas was laid down beside him, his head in the hunter's lap as calloused fingers carded through the man's scruffy hair, occasionally tracing down the side of his head to scratch at the stubble that had amassed there.

"You really ought to shave." Dean chuckled. Cas smiled but not really.

"I know."

He did shave. Not everyday, there was no need, his hair still didn't grow as quickly as a human's might but sometimes there just wasn't time to worry about things like shaving. The camp was growing and there were so many people more important than himself. Children, men, women, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, family. So many people.

Of course he didn't say that. Dean would only get angry tell him he was, realize Cas didn't believe it and that was their one chance gone. So he remained silent, taking in the warmth of the man beside him and pretending that he intended to use a razor the next morning. But if there was any morning he wasn't going to use one it was the morning after their one day. If he could get away with doing nothing, he'd do his damnedest but he never could. The world had ended. No time to mope.

Cas didn't mean to fall asleep, wanting to hoarde and cherish every moment he had with Dean for the golden flakes of time they were but the reassuring motions in his hair and Dean humming Hey Jude above him soon had him drifting and soon, too soon, he fell asleep.

When he awoke the warmth beneath him was gone, the air was cold and tuneless and he was alone on the suddenly too big and empty couch. Anyone else might think Dean had gone for a walk or a drink, got some food. gone on patrol, something normal, something temporary, but Castiel knew better. One day a month. That had been his agreement with Michael.

One day a month with Dean in exchange for staying out of the Angel's way. No more Angel patrols, no more going out in the middle of the night with his Angel blade. No more trying to kill Michael.

That was the deal.

…

It wasn't enough.

…

Every time after that one day he would awake with a piece of himself missing. As though Dean was slowly picking him apart and one day he'd wake up nothing more than an empty shell. Except he wasn't, Dean would _never _do that. Chuck, the only person who knew of the deal between half-Angel and Archangel had begged Cas continually to break it off but he couldn't. He just…he couldn't.

"Look at this world, Chuck. Look at what has become of it."

Chuck sighed exasperatedly. "I thought we'd been over this. This isn't your fault."

"Regardless." Cas reached inside his inner pocket and pulled out his Angel blade. Despite the agreement with Michael it was always upon his person. Just because Dean wasn't in charge of his body didn't mean the rules he'd laid down didn't apply.

Rule 4. No guns. "We're all survivors and we've got this far by holding onto something. For some it's family. For others it's fear. For me-"

"It's Dean." They'd had this conversation a thousand times before, every morning the day after Dean came and went. It was beginning to sound like a broken record but it wasn't, because Cas never wavered in his convictions. He was never going to back down from his decision. And Chuck felt he might have a better deal of it arguing against the wall.

But every morning after Dean came and went, Cas would take longer and longer to leave his cabin and set about sorting everyone out. It probably wouldn't be so bad if there weren't three hundred and eighty seven people in their camp, most of whom needed training, organising and educating by the half-Angel. But in this mess of a world they were in, he was _the _person to teach them how to fight against Croats and demons.

"I'm not cancelling the deal."

Chuck nodded. "Of course not." And as he did every other time, he left.

He may not have been a celestial being at some point like Cas was but he got it. When you didn't have much to cling on to in a world like this, what you did have you often refused to let go.

Not until it was too late.


End file.
